To Soar
by XXAlmostInsaneXX
Summary: A happy ending with a twist...
1. Chapter 1

This was done on request of a great friend of mine who asked for a "happy ending with a twist." I'm not sure if this is what he wanted, I'm not sure about this at all...  
>So be a darling and leave a word. Darling, this goes out for you along with all the love I can give accompanying it.<p>

Disclaimer: White Collar, had I owned you, you wouldn't be on break... :/

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><p>To Soar.<p>

He had wanted to be free. He had done all that was asked of him, betrayed the one person who mattered to him, went back to the life he had sworn to not return to, all because he wanted to be free. As he looks back upon that day, he remembers stopping, turning to stare into pleading brown eyes, listening to that voice, begging him not to throw away the life he has here, not to leave him… He remembers vividly the intense heat and strength of the blast which had knocked him off his feet, right into strong capable arms, arms which had held him together when he had broken. He doesn't regret not being on that plane. It wouldn't have been freedom. It had felt too much like running away.

He remembers too the fury which had consumed him that day, made him an animal driven with rage and a burning desire for revenge. The mad fling off the balcony, the shattered window, and the shot fired as a warning, the finger quivering to pull the trigger. He remembers the voice which had reached him even through the blinding haze of his anger, _that voice _ which had pleaded with him to stop, telling him that this wasn't who he was. He doesn't regret giving in, trading his weapon for a pair of handcuffs. He should have killed the bastard, she had deserved that much. But he hadn't and he doesn't regret that. It had freed him of a burden he had been carrying for far too long, diminished the need for vengeance which had possessed him ever since that day at the hangar. He doesn't regret not pulling the trigger because at last he was free.

She had left and he hadn't tried to stop her. He hadn't promised her anything. They had been living in the clouds and she had suddenly wanted the solid ground beneath her feet. She had found her way out. Out of his life, his fantasy. He should have stopped her, but he didn't. How could he have? After all, all she had asked for was to be free.

He remembers watching his friend of eight ears, his savior and brother, walk out of the front door. He had put forward an ultimatum, two choices: leave with him, or stay. The words had been harsh yet true. He had accused him of having Stockholm's syndrome, of living a lie, living on a _leash._ And that was exactly why he couldn't have left with him. He didn't want to leave everything behind and disappear, that would have been running away. And he didn't want that. He wanted to be free. So he watched him leave, cross the threshold, and disappear.

That day still burnt clear in his mind. That was the day that voice, which had forever before been strong and sure, sounded broken and weary for the first time he had heard it. _He took El._ Those watery brown eyes had turned to him, seeking reassurance and guidance, and he had provided it. How could've he not? It was her freedom which was at stake here, her freedom and her life.

He had tracked down that bastard, set up a plan to exchange the treasure for El. It wasn't until El was safe and sound in her husband's arms that he had realized that the treasure wasn't what that bastard had wanted. As the sound of sirens had drawn closer, and the van containing the crates, crates filled with paintings and jewels worth billions, had stood right where he had left it, had Neal realized what Keller's plan had been all along. He had aimed for what he knew was Neal's sole desire. His freedom. He had framed him, set him up to take the fall. His shoulders had slumped in defeat as his dreams had vaporized in thin air. He had turned around to take one last look at the open evening sky and the rejoicing couple and best friend who had come to mean so much to him over the years, and had found all three of them looking at him. Mozzie had seemed at a loss for words, El's eyes had been flowing with tears of regret and hopelessness but Peter, Peter's brown eyes had held nothing but determination. He had grasped his shoulder tightly and in a low yet strong voice had told him to run. Neal hadn't believed him for a second; unable to comprehend the fact that this man, whose honor and name meant everything to him, was telling him to break the law. He had shaken his head, refusing to run away like a kicked puppy, wanting to stay and fight. But that voice had once again talked sense into him, making him realize that all the evidence was against him, and he would never be able to make people see the truth when the lies were so much easier to believe.  
>He had still refused to leave, not wanting to lose the only people he could truly called his friends and had said so. Peter had laughed at that. A bitter cold laugh which had sounded strange and very uncharacteristic of him. His eyes had turned dark and sorrowful as he had told Neal that he wasn't the only one Keller had set up as a scapegoat. Keller had played his moves so, placing his chess pieces in such a way, that in the light of present events, to an outsider, it would appear that Peter had been in on the plan the whole time, working with Neal to steal the treasure and then covering up for him after the job had been done. Cold raw fury had burnt through Neal when he had heard of his friend's career and life, manipulated and destroyed, like a helpless pawn in the hands of the chess master. But there hadn't been any more time for pondering on that which should have been; the sirens had been advancing with every passing second. Without a second's hesitation, Mozzie had taken charge, urging them all into the van, and driving to the hangar where he had had the plane ready. Before it had registered in Neal's mind that he was running away, but instead of leaving his life and the people he cared about behind, he was taking both with him, they were on their way to which ever island had taken Mozzie's fancy so long ago. Even though it was an escape, sitting in the pilot's seat with his best friend sitting beside him, and his mentor behind him; it had felt like true freedom.<p>

He sat on the beach chair, nursing a glass of lemonade. El had insisted that it was too early in the morning for any 'heavy drinks' as she liked to call his wines and Peter's beers too. If he were to be honest with himself, he did not really mind the unusual beverage in his hand. Sprawled in a comfortable beach chair, gazing at the sparkling blue sea, and basking in the warm glow of the morning Hawaiian sun, it was hard to sulk over anything for long. He smiled lazily as he saw the woman whom he was supposedly angry at, come sauntering out to join him, dressed in a lovely blue swimming suit, which made her look both sexy and homely at once.

"Stop ogling my wife Caffrey, before I knock those blue things out of your head." Peter had come back from his morning swim and was rubbing his hair with a towel while playfully glaring at Neal. El laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Come on in boys, Mozzie has got breakfast ready." She called out before disappearing inside.

"You still sure about allowing him to cook for us?" Peter asked, following his wife into the villa they had bought, along with the whole island. "I mean what if…" his voice trailed off and Neal rolled his eyes at the usual whining, sharing a wink with El. As the four of them sat down for breakfast, Neal suddenly felt the urge to grin like a fool. This was the life he could get used to…


	2. Epilogue

Epilogue.

His hand shook as he poised the pen over the dotted line. He couldn't do this! Why were they asking him to do this? It was stupid, and inconsiderate, and _wrong_ yet he knew that he had to. It had been six years! Six long years they had waited… The first two years the doctors were hopeful; talking about prolonged comas and miraculous awakenings, but after the fourth year even El had lost hope… Still he could not help the big blue eyes and the innocent child like grin which flashed in his mind's eye as he stared at the paper in front of him, willing his hand to obey him. The doctors had finally told him to make the decision, something he had been dreading ever since he had come to know that his partner had given him power of attorney in case anything happened to him. Ever since _that day_, the day the world had turned upside down, the day he had pushed Peter out of the range of Keller's gun, and the bullet which had been meant for Peter had blown away half his brains. They had rushed him to the hospital, and after eight hours of surgery, the doctors had informed them that he was stable and might wake up at any time.

But he hadn't woken up. Peter had waited, never losing hope, never giving up on his friend and partner. The doctors were perplexed at first they couldn't understand what was wrong. They had assured Peter that he was medically fine and should come out of the coma soon, but when the month had changed into days, they had nothing to offer. It was almost like as if he didn't want to wake up. Like as if he didn't have any desire to live anymore.

A single tear escaped from the watery brown eyes and rolled down Peter Burke's cheek as he stood beside his partner's bed, one hand tightly wrapped around his wife's waist, the other holding a lifeless cold hand in a tight grip, as if he could by sheer force of will and strength cause those eyes to open and blink up at him. But no such miracle happened. However, as the doctor switched off the artificial respirator and the screen displayed a monotonous flat line, the couple hugged each other tightly, each racked with the grief of losing a friend, partner and brother, a miracle did happen. Neal Caffrey, whose wild spirit the world had never been able to rein in, was set free.

Stone walls do not a prison make,  
>Nor iron bars a cage;<br>Minds innocent and quite take  
>That for an hermitage;<br>If I have freedom in my love  
>And in my soul am free,<br>Angels alone, that soar above,  
>Enjoy such liberty!<p>

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><p>AN: Yup so that's it... Tell me what you think. The verses are from the poem "To Althea, From Prison." Go read it, its lovely...:)<p> 


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